


greetings from califournia

by s_coups



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: (does not actually take place in california), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Cartel, Drug Dealing, Fire Obsession, M/M, Meth Cooking, Mob Boss Hansol, Organized Crime, Pyromania, burned alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 08:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_coups/pseuds/s_coups
Summary: for the first time in weeks (or maybe even years), jisoo feels safe. he feels at home.





	greetings from califournia

**Author's Note:**

> reposted because i deleted it by accident lmfao  
> this is part of a series that's told backwards, so stay tuned I guess?  
> title from/written to greetings from califournia by the neighbourhood  
> there is a playlist for this fic that you can find [here on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/efirny/playlist/1dGQSpPhRtOL5E0uVjubHo?si=QLjxkfMnRpu4fJo12AdiIQ)

If someone were to ask Jisoo why it is exactly that he feels so drawn to the flames, he would simply say, "the power." Fire holds an exuberant sort of power that Jisoo could never find in himself. That is, when he was a child the only time he felt comfortable, the only time he felt that those who were above him were on his level as well, was when he was watching flames flicker in the dry air. The deep blue in the center, the yellow tint and the orange outline to it. Jisoo loved everything about it, and although peace was something he didn't often feel, when he did, it was always while he was in the vicinity of fire. The bigger the fire, the more at ease he felt.

And so, as time passed, Jisoo chased his larger than life dreams; or larger than life infernos, ones that grew and grew out of his control as he grew and grew with them. He started with papers, letters, mail his parents had thrown out. Then he moved on to clothes, shoes, even his mother's nice silk scarves. It escalated in high school, when he set fire to a trashcan behind the bleachers and ended up getting suspended for two weeks. His parents, god bless their souls, tried their hardest to keep him in control.

But, like a fire, he couldn't be controlled. The more they tried to stamp it out of him, the bigger it blazed. Now he finds himself in the backseat of a glossy black Range Rover, seated across from a boy of mixed descent. He's handsome, and looks to be either Jisoo's age or younger, but everything else about him screams he's endured years more worth of suffering and life experience than most adults Jisoo has come in contact with. He had scars on his palms that he hid well, a gun tucked into his expensive looking suit, and the smallest of tattoos just beneath his left eye, a thin, black and white diamond. Around his neck was a long, thin chain with a tiny round locket attached.

His name was Hansol, and Jisoo had come across him entirely by accident. Or rather, he had been hit by his car entirely by accident.

His obsession had gotten the best of him a few months ago, when he'd set fire to his own bedroom, and his parents had kicked him out. He'd been roaming the streets for quite some time, staying in different places he could find, and only recently had begun to feel that itch beneath his skin. The yearning to be near flames, to ignite a fire and watch ash rise from the object while the overwhelming heat licked at his skin, was almost insatiable. One thing led to another, and he set fire to a police officer's car- while the officer was still in it.

That was two days ago, and he'd been on the run ever since. An officer who recognized him had almost caught him earlier that night, and when Jisoo had run away, he was so consumed with thoughts of not being caught he didn't see the huge black car when he sprinted across the street, and next thing he knew he was face first on the pavement, Hansol standing above him looking a bit annoyed.

He didn't know where they were going, but when Hansol offered to give him a ride to escape the obvious search party that was prowling the streets for him, Jisoo couldn't refuse. By his looks, Hansol would obviously be able to tell he was homeless. He hadn't washed his hair in a long, long time, and his sneakers were falling apart.

Hansol frowns at his phone, scrolling through it, when the car lurches to a stop. They both jerk forward, and Hansol curses, whipping around to look through the partition at the driver.

"Learn how to fucking drive, Wonwoo," He snarls, and the driver sends him a big grin, cheeks round and youthful.

"Relax, Boss, I got it," He says in a calm voice, and Hansol just snorts. He turns back around, looking for his phone. Jisoo picks it off the floor and carefully hands it back to him.

Hansol thanks him, and for a moment, examines him with an inquisitive look. He scans him up and down, and Jisoo feels uncomfortably scrutinized under the gaze of a complete stranger.

"What are you in for, doll face?" Hansol asks abruptly, and Jisoo frowns at him, but not because of the pet name. He surprisingly doesn't mind it that much.

"I'm not in for anything," He says slowly, but then he realizes he means why are the police after him, and he sinks a little into the plush leather seat, embarrassed "I, uh... set a cop car on fire."

Other than a slight quirk in his brow, Hansol's expression remains the same. "That's all?"

Jisoo nods, adding in a small voice," He was still in it, though.

Hansol breaks into a smirk, nodding. "Ah, so that's what it is."

Jisoo avoids looking in his eye. Despite his love for what he does, he always feels uncomfortable telling people about it. It’s taboo, and it’s illegal, and he knows that.

But Hansol doesn't seem the least bit affected by this information. In fact, he pulls out his phone once again, going back to his scrolling, and doesn't give any other affirmation that they even just had a conversation.

In the front seat, after a few seconds of silence, the driver Wonwoo comments, "You a pyromaniac, kid?"

Jisoo stares at him. "A what?"

"Wonwoo, shut up," Hansol orders clearly, and Wonwoo laughs but doesn't say anything else.

Jisoo looks between them, and when it's obvious neither of them was going to clarify, asks, "What's a pyromaniac?"

Hansol doesn't look up or give any indication he even heard him, so Jisoo doesn't press the matter. But then he slides his phone into his pocket and says, "A pyromaniac is someone who's obsessed with setting things on fire."

Jisoo blinks. He didn't know that was a thing, but the idea gives him excitement. If it even had a name, that meant there were more people like him. More people who felt that itch under their skin, more people beset with the very idea of fire itself. More people who started fires.

Hansol smiles, a softer smile than before, and leans in slightly. "We have a pyromaniac among our ranks. Would you be interested in meeting him?"

"Your ranks," Jisoo echoes. "What does that mean?"

Hansol's smile twitches but stays in place as he says, "Don't worry about it, doll face."

The car lurches again when Wonwoo makes a sudden left turn, and Jisoo thinks it doesn't matter what his response would’ve been; he was going to meet this person anyway.

 

This person- or other pyromaniac- is a Chinese boy named Minghao, and Jisoo's first thought is _dangerous._ He’s tall and thin, with a mess of blond hair and sharp, cat like eyes behind a half face respirator mask that scan Jisoo up and down similar to how Hansol had done before. He's got unidentifiable, dark stains on his denim coveralls, which are unzipped to reveal his bare chest, the sleeves rolled up to show burns littering his arms. He's bent over a laboratory table, test tubes and beakers sizzling in front of him in an almost intimidating way. It smells like bleach, and something else acidic, and Jisoo tries not to make a face at it.

Hansol doesn't seem bothered by any of this, instead smiling cheerily at the boy. "Minghao, I have someone I'd like you to meet.

Minghao rips off his respirator mask so it rests around his neck, and glares at Hansol suspiciously. "Why?"

"This is Jisoo. He also enjoys fire," Hansol gestures to aforementioned boy, and Jisoo shrinks into himself when Minghao shifts his gaze to him. The glare is gone, replaced by the smallest of twinkles in the other boy's eyes at the mention of fire. He hums in response, placing the beaker of bubbling blue liquid on the counter beside him and pulling off the bright yellow kitchen gloves he wears. He rounds the table and approaches Jisoo, who tries not to take a step back once the other is in his personal space.

Minghao thrusts his hand out, and when Jisoo takes it he's surprised to find it cool and soft despite being inside a sticky glove for who knows how long.

"I thought Jisoo might be interested in working with you," Hansol says, and Jisoo tries to hide his surprise at this. It's brand new information to him as well. "He's on the run, you see, from some officers. Set a cop car on fire."

Minghao's face splits into a huge grin. "How'd you do it?"

"Uh, vodka and a match," Jisoo explains, and he can't help but smile back at Minghao's enthusiastic look.

"What kind of car?"

"Ford, I think."

"Crown Victoria?"

Jisoo nods, and Minghao throws his head back and laughs crazily. Hansol is smiling to Jisoo's left, and despite the uneasy tension that lingers in the air between Hansol and Minghao,  Jisoo feels comfortable. He likes Minghao.

The door behind them is thrown open again, and another boy stands in its wake, tall like Minghao but with neatly styled, dark brown hair and a chiseled, handsome face. His lips curl back when he sees Hansol, and it reveals a white, powdery substance that dots along his gums and the outer curves of his nostrils.

"Hey," He greets in a raspy voice, and he sucks loudly on his teeth, eyeing Jisoo up and down. Jisoo sees a flash of metal in his mouth when he speaks, what looks like a tiny silver ball through his tongue. "Who's this?"

"This is Jisoo," Hansol says, smiling politely, although Jisoo can sense the shift in the air, the way Hansol directs all of his tense energy towards the newcomer instead of Minghao. "He's going to be helping Minghao out with the cooking, and maybe cutting, if you'd like."

"I don't need help cutting," The boy snaps. Jisoo watches as the boy steps between Hansol and Minghao, twisting a protective arm around Minghao’s waist and pulling him close. "Is he gonna stay with us?"

"If you'd like," Hansol replies. "I can find him a room with the others in-"

"He'll stay with us," Minghao cuts him off. The boy curls his fingers tightly around Minghao's hip, a movement that Jisoo doesn't miss. "It's okay, we have enough room."

"That's fine, then," Hansol turns to Jisoo. "Do you have any thing you need to retrieve, doll face? Clothes or personal items?"

Jisoo is still trying to figure out what was going on, but he shakes his head. All he had were the clothes on his back and the sixteen cents in his right pocket. Hansol smiles at him, patting him on the shoulder.

"Then I'll leave you to it," Hansol heads towards the door, but before closing it turns around and taps his nose, addressing the unnamed boy. "Clean it up, Junhui."

The door slams behind him, and Jisoo can feel the strain of the atmosphere in the room melt the second he’s gone. Minghao pats the boy - Junhui - on the cheek comfortingly, untangling his arm from around him and going back to his laboratory table. Junhui scrubs at his nose with the back of his hand, flushing a deep pink color.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, a complete one eighty from the harsh voice he used with Hansol. “I hate him.”

Jisoo shrugs. “It’s okay. Junhui, right?”

Junhui nods and holds out his hand for Jisoo to shake. “Yeah. Me and Minghao are in charge of most of the shit Hansol makes his money off.”

Behind his respirator mask, Minghao snorts as he pours a test tube full of light red liquid into a beaker full of white, translucent powder.

“What exactly does Hansol do?” Jisoo asks, carefully. He doesn’t want to overstep any lines, but he’s dying with curiosity.

Junhui gives him a pointed look. “Don’t worry about it. Minghao will show you how to cook a pure batch. He knows his chemistry and shit.”

Minghao waves silver tongs at Jisoo, gesturing for him to join him. Jisoo moves to approach, but Junhui grabs his shoulder and pulls him back.

“You’re gonna wanna cover up,” He says. “And get a mask. Inhaling that shit is lethal.”

“What exactly is that?” Jisoo asks before he can stop himself, peering at the bubbling mixture in Minghao’s beakers.

Junhui snorts. “You ask too many questions, kid.”

 

When Jisoo heard the term _cooking,_ he imagined flour and eggs, or complex dishes served at five star restaurants. Instead, he finds himself in those same coveralls as Minghao, respirator mask on his head as he stares down at a glass tray full of crystal meth.

“It’s so… blue,” Is the first thing he says, and Minghao rubs his forehead, sighing.

“I know, but it’s not supposed to be,” He sounds stressed, and he scratches his fingernails on the stainless steel counter top anxiously. “It’s supposed to be clear. That’s its purest form.”

Jisoo watches the younger boy dump the tray in the sink, brows furrowed into a frustrated expression, the crystal rocks clattering against the metal.

The room they’re in is about the size of Jisoo’s old bedroom, neat and stacked high with chemistry equipment and other unrecognizable tools Jisoo can’t name. There’s three doors; one that opens to a staircase that leads to the street that Hansol had brought him through, and two on opposite ends of the room. Junhui had disappeared behind one with a box in hands, grumbling to himself. The other Jisoo hadn’t opened yet, but Minghao had told him it was where they slept. There were no windows in any of the rooms, but a massive, industrial sized ventilation unit just above their heads.

“I have to start a new batch, so you can observe and see how it’s done,” Minghao explains. He’s crossed the room to the filing cabinet in the corner, and has opened the lowest drawer, squatting down so he can dig through it. Instead of files, it’s full of ziplock bags, each one filled to the top with exact measurements of… whatever it was Minghao needs. Some of them looked like pills, while some of the others looked like powders. They were each marked with dates, numbers, and Chinese characters Jisoo couldn’t read.

Minghao fills his arms with over a dozen bags, then kicks the drawer closed and brings them back to the counter, dumping them out. He pushes the dirty beakers and trays towards Jisoo and points at the sink.

“Wash these,” He commands. “We need them to be clean for a fresh batch.”

Jisoo nods, carefully taking each glass piece and gently depositing them into the sink. As he turns on the faucet, he spots Minghao line up the bags neatly in front of himself, reading over each one’s labels.

“What does Junhui do in this process?” Jisoo asks (a little quietly because from what he’s experienced so far it seems no one here enjoys his questions, but he’s still dying to know so many things.)

“Nothing,” Minghao says. He picks up one of the bags of pills and slides it across the table, replacing its place in the line with a bag of powder. “Junhui cuts the coke and deals with Hansol whenever he drops by with the distributor.”

“Coke?” Jisoo echoes, and then realizes what the younger means a second later, remembering the white powder along Junhui’s nose. “Oh. Coke.”

Minghao nods, not noticing Jisoo’s revelation. “The stuff we get from the supplier is usually about seventy five, eighty percent pure. Hansol has Junhui cut it down to about forty, and then package and label it so one of the other boys can distribute it to our sellers.”

Jisoo finds a hand towel hung just above the sink, and deems it clean enough to dry off the glassware he’s rinsed. “What does cutting mean?”

Minghao finally looks up, then. The line in front of him has been condensed down from about fifteen bags to only six. “He mixes the coke with baby powder so there’s more product and we get more profit from it. Or,” He furrows his brow again, grinding his teeth together. “Hansol gets more profit from it.”

Jisoo nods. In his mind, he thinks he should be a bit more worried that he had never volunteered for any of this, and Hansol had just sort of picked him up off the streets and dumped him here in an actual meth lab, but he wasn't complaining. It was better than sleeping on the streets, and he'd never met another pyromaniac before. Plus, both Minghao and Junhui seemed like nice people, despite the attitudes they held with Hansol.

Minghao is opening cabinets beneath the counter now, searching among metal bottles of liquid. He pulls out three of them, taking the freshly washed beakers from the sink so he can pour the contents of one of the bottles into a beaker.

It's bright red, and when it hits the glass it makes an awful hissing noise, smoke furling out of the top. Jisoo coughs deeply at the sickly, sulfuric smell to it, and only then does Minghao glance up like he forgot Jisoo was there.

"Oh, yeah," Minghao tugs his respirator back over his own face, pointing at Jisoo's. "Make sure it's on and tight. Too much of this stuff can fuck you up."

Jisoo quickly pulls his own respirator over his face, tightening the straps around the back of his head so it fits snugly. It's strange, and he can hear his own breathing loudly echoing in his ears, and he can still smell the sulfur, but Minghao doesn't seem bothered by it so Jisoo presumes he'll get used to it too eventually.

Behind the door, something smashes loudly, and Junhui begins shouting at the top of his lungs, snarling curses at nothing and breaking various objects. Minghao doesn't even blink, too focused  on measuring out spoonfuls of powder from one of the ziplock bags. Jisoo guesses he'll get used to that as well.

 

Twelve hours later, Jisoo is exhausted, stinking of sulfur and other unidentifiable chemicals and sporting a horrific chemical burn from a drop of hydriodic acid that had gone astray and landed on his forearm. It hurt like a bitch, but he succeeded in not crying while Minghao gently cleaned it and wrapped it with clean bandages, like he dealt with this daily (maybe he cried a little, just a tear or two, but if Minghao noticed he didn't mention it.)

The other proudly shows him the finished result of his work, the clear-cut tray of crystals that glitter and shine like rock candy. Minghao leaves it on the counter and tells Jisoo that Junhui will get it soon and package it for someone else to pick up in the morning.

Minghao ushers him into the room he's yet to enter; their (his now, too) bedroom. It's depressing to say the least - most of the room is taken up by a large king size bed, with layers of thick blankets on top. The only other thing in the room is a closet, stuffed with a wardrobe for two, and a small bedside table with a lamp and a candle perched on top of it. No windows or anything else on the walls, just stone.

Minghao sheds his coveralls, revealing miles of pale skin, left only in his boxers. He tosses his respirator mask to the floor and collapses onto the bed, the springs groaning at the sudden weight. He rolls over onto his back, and Jisoo notices multiple tattoos littering his chest, along with a gold necklace bearing a cross around his neck. He takes note of it for later.

"God, I'm fucking tired," Minghao sighs. He pats the bed, eyes half lidded, and jerks his head for Jisoo to join him. "C'mere."

The elder tries to ignore the stirring in the pit of his stomach at the words, the way Minghao looks at him (even though he knows it's just sheer exhaustion, and the implication was all in his mind), and instead clears his throat and asks, "Where's the bathroom?"

Minghao gives him a pointed look. "It's in the other room. Knock first, though. Jun doesn't like people barging in."

Jisoo nods, trailing towards the other door. It's silent behind the door, and has been since Junhui's last outburst about three hours ago (he'd had six in total. Jisoo had kept count.)

He knocks softly, so softly he doesn't think the other would even hear. There's no response, so he knocks harder, but still nothing. He opens the door anyway.

This room is different, emptier than the other, but with multiple papers and lists taped to the wall messily so it doesn't look so bare. Junhui lays asleep on a couch against the left wall, the coffee table in front of him covered inch to inch in neatly packaged kilos of cocaine, and there's powder all along the floor and on the couch. Even on his clothes, in patches, like he'd wiped it off his hands using his shirt. On the right wall is the entrance to a tiny bathroom, door cracked open to reveal a small shower, toilet, and sink.

Jisoo stares at him for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slight fluttering of his lashes and the peacefulness on his face, before calling out the door, "Minghao, he fell asleep."

"What? I can't hear you," Comes Minghao's response, and a few seconds later he pads out of the bedroom to come stand in the doorway with Jisoo, still in just his boxers, gold cross swinging around his neck. He leans against the doorframe, smiling fondly at Junhui's sleeping form. "Dumbass. He hasn't slept in days. I told him he was gonna run out of gas soon."

"Should we wake him up?" Jisoo asks, and Minghao shakes his head, moving over to the couch.

"Nah, I'll bring him to bed. The bathroom's right there."

Jisoo nods, and as he heads into the bathroom and moves to close the door, he spots Minghao bending down, back muscles flexing as he easily lifts Junhui off the couch and into his arms bridal style.

When he finishes and gets back to the bedroom, he finds Junhui curled up in the middle of the bedsheets, shivering in just his boxers as Minghao just finishes pulling the elder's shirt off and tosses it in the pile of the other's clothes he'd formed in the corner of the room. Jisoo stands still, watching Minghao's abdominal muscles shift with every movement he makes, and only jumps out of his daze when Minghao snaps his fingers in his direction.

"Move it, Junhui gets cold easily," He says, and Jisoo nods. Minghao slides into the left side of the bed, curling easily around Junhui, spooning him against his chest. Jisoo rids himself of his own coveralls and carefully climbs in on the right side. Minghao haphazardly pulls the comforters over all of them. He takes extra care to make sure Junhui is tucked in, which Jisoo doesn't miss, but he doesn't mention it.

Minghao turns off the lamp and they're plunged into pitch blackness. It's so dark Jisoo feels off-kilter from the fact that even with his eyes open it looks like he has them squeezed shut. He can hear everything clearly, the shift of the blankets and Junhui's gentle breathing, and the sounds of floorboards creaking from the apartment above.

A second later and light grows in his face as Minghao suddenly lights a match. The smokey scent and warmth of the flame immediately calms Jisoo, and he leans forward slightly, unaware of the others for just a moment as the fire whispers ever so quietly to him.

Then he meets eyes with Minghao just behind the match, their gazes catching around the flame. Minghao has that same look in his eyes, the dilated pupils and slight glimmer of obsession that Jisoo knows so well from himself. Minghao smiles at him, lips curling even as the flame races along the stick of the match towards his bare fingers.

The other boy moves finally when Junhui mumbles in his sleep, shivering, to light the candle on the bedside table. The room is bathed in a warm glow, and Jisoo feels an easy, soft feeling occupy itself in the pit of his stomach. Minghao blows out the match and the smoke that furls in Jisoo's direction and settles in his nostrils just further comforts him.

Minghao moves back into place, curling around Junhui ever so gently, arms wrapping naturally around the older boys waist. Junhui doesn't even shift, just letting out the smallest, contented sigh. Jisoo settles down as well, and in the dim light of the candle he meets Minghao's gaze over Junhui's shoulder.

For the first time in weeks (or maybe even years), Jisoo feels safe. He feels at home.

 

When Jisoo wakes in the morning, he finds Junhui missing, and Minghao’s arm tucked under Jisoo’s head as a faux pillow, the younger boy incredibly close. Their faces are inches apart, and even then, the elder notices how Minghao’s brow furrows, almost like he couldn’t relax even in his sleep.

He hears voices drifting in from the other room, and he untangles himself from the sheets, being careful not to wake the other boy. He's still in only his boxers, and from the sound of the voices there were more than two people out there, so he grabs Junhui's t-shirt from yesterday that lays on top of the pile on the floor and pulls it over his head. Junhui is broader than he is, with bigger shoulders, so it's too large and hangs off his frame, but it'll have to do.

The door creaks too loudly for his liking when he steps out, and only one of the three people in the room turn to look at him. He doesn't recognize him, or the other one who was too busy arguing with Junhui. For a moment, he wonders how many men work for Hansol in whatever business this was.

The one staring him down now looked to be about his age, with pretty, feminine features and long hair pulled up into a ponytail. The one arguing with Junhui was definitely younger, and barely reached Junhui's shoulder, with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue, judging by the curse words he was punctuating every sentence with.

Jisoo closes the door gently behind him and stands awkwardly a few feet away from them, still unsure if he should approach, especially with the smaller boy cursing Junhui out now (he's talking about kilos of something, and the speed of Minghao and Junhui's progress, and other things Jisoo doesn't understand. Junhui has a slightly annoyed expression on, rolling his tongue piercing between his lips, arms crossed as he leans against the counter and stares the other boy down.)

The boy with long hair takes a step forward, offering his hand towards Jisoo. "Hello. I'm Jeonghan. Who are you?"

Jisoo takes his hand gingerly, painfully aware as the other boy stops bickering with Junhui to turn his glare onto Jisoo instead. "I'm Jisoo. I- uh- just got here yesterday."

"Who brought you here?" The other boy demands, advancing on Jisoo so suddenly he stumbles back in surprise. "Junhui, why the fuck would you bring some kid you-"

"Hey, knock it off, asshole," Junhui snaps, finally moving from his position against the counter to stand between the small boy and Jisoo. "Hansol brought him last night. He's here to help Minghao with cooking."

The boy glares at Jisoo around Junhui, looking suspicious. "Whatever. Just make sure he doesn't fuck up all of our product, or I'm going straight to Hansol."

"You're more likely to fuck up our product than he is, I'm sure," Junhui says dryly. Jeonghan laughs airily beside the smaller boy, who sputters in response.

"When you get the last eight kilos done, let me know," Jeonghan says. He takes the other boys hand in his, and Jisoo observes how the boy doesn't protest, although he still looked angry and was switching his glare between Jisoo and Junhui now. "I'll tell Mingyu to move forward with the deal for the first half of the batch."

Junhui hums in affirmation, bowing in the slightest as the two head out the door. Jeonghan's smiles warmly at Jisoo as he closes the door behind him.

Junhui lets out a loud, audible sigh. He turns to face Jisoo, but before he speaks he seems to notice Jisoo's shirt and raises a brow instead, looking amused. "Is that my shirt?"

Jisoo doesn't meet his gaze, nodding. "Sorry, I just grabbed the first thing I saw. Do you want it back?"

Junhui shakes his head, taking a step back so he can very obviously look Jisoo up and down. "No. You look good in it."

Jisoo swallows, trying not to let his voice waver as he says, "Who was that kid yelling at you?"

Junhui snorts and moves around Jisoo to open the bedroom door. "That _kid_ was Jihoon. He thinks he's, like, Hansol's second in command, but Hansol doesn't trust him as far as he can throw."

Jisoo leans against the doorframe as Junhui opens the closet to rifle through the layers and layers of clothes. On the bed, Minghao stretches with feline like fluidity, moaning into the pillow as he wakes up.

"Get up, love," Junhui trills, tossing clothing onto the bed at Minghao's feet. "I have to package eight kilos, and you have to finish three batches by tomorrow morning at four."

Minghao groans, rolling over so he's on his back and props himself up on his elbows. He spots Jisoo, and for a moment doesn't seem to recognize him. But then it visibly comes back to him, and he flops back down onto the pillows, waving his arm in Jisoo's direction for him to join him.

Jisoo crawls gently over the sheets, unsure what Minghao wants him to do, but the younger pulls him down with a surprising amount of strength, dragging him in so Jisoo's face was pressed against his chest and Minghao could rest his chin on the top of the elder's head.

"Are you wearing Junhui's shirt?" Minghao mumbles sleepily into his hair. Jisoo nods, and he can feel Minghao laugh deep in his chest. Jisoo wraps his arms around Minghao's waist, pressing his nose into the younger's warm skin.

There's the faintest sizzling sound, and Jisoo immediately smells smoke. He raises his head the same time Minghao does, both of them peering over his shoulder at the candle that had finally finished burning from the night before. Junhui watches them from a few feet away, laughing.

"That was really creepy. You both noticed it at the same time," He comments, and Jisoo can feel his face flushing. But Minghao just laughs as well, pulling Jisoo back against him, and tells Junhui to go get a fresh candle from the cupboard before he forgets.

 

Jisoo has never been in a relationship in the past; it was difficult for him to find someone who understood his deeper needs and didn't just look at him as someone who deserved to be in an insane asylum. The only time he'd been attracted to someone was in fifth grade, and it was towards a girl in his art class that had long hair and a pretty voice. Jisoo had brought her behind the school during recess and lit a pile of dandelions on fire to impress her- instead she just ran screaming for the teachers and he ended up getting in trouble with the principle and a call home.

He hadn't had much experience with relationships other than the ones he'd seen at his school and his parents, but it would take an idiot to not notice Minghao and Junhui's relationship. There was far more complexity between them than Jisoo could comprehend, but it was visible and obvious in the way they moved around each other, the way they were so naturally in sync with the other's body and even moods. When Junhui starts throwing furniture in the other room and screaming in Chinese, Minghao waits till he’s settled down to slip into the room and talk to him in a low voice. When Minghao gets frustrated mixing chemicals and almost (purposefully) sets his coveralls on fire, Junhui gently pries the matches from his hands and guides him to their bedroom to rest.

When Jisoo wakes up one morning, only a week or so into his stay, he finds Junhui awake already and sifting through their closet for outfits for all three of them, as he does every day. Minghao is half asleep beside him, arm propped underneath Jisoo's head in lieu of the pillow, blinking sleepily at Junhui as the elder coos in Chinese to him. Minghao murmurs something back, and Jisoo watches through half lidded eyes as Junhui steps forward to press the softest of kisses to Minghao's lips. Minghao accepts it, eyes closing, letting Junhui run his tongue over the younger's bottom lip.

"Doesn't his tongue ring feel weird?" Jisoo mumbles, still only half awake and brain a jumbled mess. Something in his wrists feels like it's pulsing rhythmically, not his heartbeat but his blood, pumping through his veins at a new, faster speed as he watches the two boys break apart and turn to look at him, surprised.

"You're awake," Minghao says a bit dumbly, and Jisoo frowns.

"Clearly," He replies dryly, and Junhui laughs too loudly in the tiny room.

"Do you want a kiss, too?" Junhui whispers, voice dropping an octave lower than normal, and for a moment Jisoo considers him seriously. Then he nods, smiling, and before Junhui can even move Minghao is rolling him over so he's caged between the younger's arm, grinning down at him.

Jisoo can’t help but smile back. Minghao leans down ever so slowly to kiss him, but before their lips can touch Junhui shoves Minghao hard off the other, so that he rolls to the side.

“He said he wanted a kiss from _me_ ,” Junhui insists, climbing over Jisoo to take Minghao’s previous spot.

“He said _a_ kiss, not yours,” Minghao grumbles back.

“I didn’t say anything, but somebody better kiss me before I decide I don’t want it anymore,” Jisoo finally says, and Junhui laughs as he leans down to kiss him. Jisoo can’t focus on what Minghao replies because Junhui’s lips are so soft and sweet, which Jisoo thinks fit him well. But then he parts his lips and he feels Junhui’s tongue ring slide along the inside of his bottom lip, and the sweetness is cut with something bitter and unrecognizable that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Jisoo thinks that fits him, too.

Junhui is thrown off him when Minghao tackles Junhui, elbowing him away so he can wrap his arms around Jisoo and haul him into his lap. Jisoo can’t help but laugh, even as Minghao’s fingers curl around his hips to keep him in place, something that feels so natural. Junhui laughs, too, when Minghao pulls Jisoo down by the back of his neck to kiss him all over his face.

Their laughter is cut off almost immediately as someone knocks loudly on the door, and Hansol’s voice rings clearly through the room, “Minghao, I need to speak to you.”

Minghao pulls away from Jisoo slowly, face blank. Junhui’s smile vanishes, and he moves to get to his feet, but Minghao shakes his head. Jisoo climbs off him gently, skin prickling from the icy tension that had settled around them. Outside the door it’s silent, but Jisoo can feel Hansol’s presence, heavy and powerful.

Minghao gets off the bed gently, feet silent as he pads to the door. On the floor, Junhui watches with a furrowed brow, body tense.

Minghao opens the door the slightest bit, and almost instantly Hansol kicks it the rest of the way open. It bangs against the wall, the hinges creaking loudly. Jisoo’s heart pounds in his chest as the seconds tick by, Minghao and Hansol standing a foot or two away from each other, just staring.

All at once, Hansol moves forward and promptly slaps Minghao across the face.

The sound echoes off the walls, and Minghao’s face scrunches up in pain, head turned downwards and to the side, but other than that he makes no indication of moving. Hansol glares at him, eyes like fire, and suddenly Jisoo understands why exactly the others hate him so much.

“Next time you give me shit like that, I’ll set the bed on fire while you’re in it,” Hansol snarls. “But you’d probably enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

Minghao says nothing. He keeps his head down, completely still.

Hansol turns his eyes to Junhui, who’s still on the floor. “Keep him in line. It’s your job to make sure he doesn’t fuck with the product.”

Junhui gives him the slightest of nods, face like stone. Hansol turns back to Minghao and raises his hand as though to hit him again. Minghao flinches violently, and Hansol snorts.

“You’re so pathetic,” He spits. “Man up.”

He turns on his heels to leave, just like that. They watch as he opens the front door and slams it behind him, leaving them all in a ringing silence.

Minghao is still staring at the floor, head turned in the position Hansol slapped it. His grips the doorknob so tightly Jisoo can see his knuckles turning white.

Junhui finally moves, very slowly getting to his feet. He holds his hands out in front of him, like he’s approaching a wild animal, and begins moving towards Minghao.

“Love,” Junhui begins, but just before he can reach out to touch the other boy, Minghao whips around to glare at him. His cheek is flushed red from where he was hit and his eyes are watery, just on the verge of spilling over. His bottom lip trembles, moves like he wants to say something but can’t find his voice. Junhui murmurs something in Chinese that Jisoo doesn't catch, and Minghao's eyes well up to the point a few tears spill over and slide down his cheeks.

He looks like he’s going to collapse, and Junhui must spot it as well because he surges forward at just the right moment, collecting Minghao in his arms when the younger’s knees give out. Minghao starts crying fully then, big, hysterical sobs as he clings to Junhui’s shirt and wails into the crook of his neck. Jisoo’s heart twists painfully in his chest at the sound.

Junhui cards his fingers through Minghao’s hair, cooing at him softly. Jisoo feels useless sitting on the bed just watching, and Junhui must immediately sense his discomfort, because he shifts, pulling Minghao with him.

Minghao moves easily, clinging to Junhui, and when the other sets him on the bed beside Jisoo Minghao reaches out a hand to curl around Jisoo’s wrist, pulling him close as well. Jisoo is tugged intimately close to Minghao’s collar, nose just barely brushing against his neck. He can feel every shiver through the younger boy, and hesitantly, he raises a hand to rub circles on Minghao’s back.

“Do you wanna go out?” Junhui whispers into Minghao’s hair, voice deep and barely there. “We can go to the junkyard by the river. I have matches hidden under the bathroom sink.”

Jisoo feels his heart jump at the mention of matches, and Minghao must have the same feeling because he tightens his hold on Jisoo’s wrist, nodding against Junhui’s chest.

 

The junkyard turns out to be outside. Jisoo wasn’t even aware they were allowed outside the basement (although, in retrospect, the way Junhui nervously snuck them up the stairs and out the door in the dead of night is enough evidence that Jisoo’s hunch was right and they weren’t.) Minghao leads the way with purpose, clearly excited to reach it as they hurry along the sidewalk in the dark, Junhui lingering behind with Jisoo.

Junhui has a pack of matches in his right hand, turning it over and over absentmindedly, and Jisoo can’t help but keep peeking at them. He can feel his heartbeat racing every time he catches glimpses of it. Junhui must notice, because he smiles gently at him, reaching out to link their arms together and pull the older boy close.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your fix,” He says in what he must be hoping is a cheery voice, but Jisoo can hear the undertone of worry beneath it.

Ahead, Minghao suddenly breaks into a run as the junkyard comes into view. Junhui’s smile drops as he watches, but when he notices Jisoo staring he puts it back on for show.

When they catch up to the other boy, Minghao is standing over what looks like an old rusted car. He looks up when they approach, and points to it.

“This one,” He says, and Junhui looks it over once before sighing and tossing the matches to Minghao. Minghao catches them with the utmost of care, eyes sparkling once he has them in his own hands.

“Did you bring lighter fluid?” Jisoo asks, looking at Junhui, but Minghao is already pulling a flask out of his pocket and unscrewing the cap. He starts circling the car, carefully pouring the liquid inside in precise spots along the rusted metal, face serious and focused. Jisoo and Junhui watch in silence, Junhui with his hands shoved in his coat pockets and Jisoo with his eyes on the matches still in Minghao’s hand.

When he’s circled the car completely, Minghao stops right in front of them, flask still in his left hand, matches in his right. He pulls one out and lights it with practiced ease, the glow illuminating his face and bathing them all in warm, dim light.

Minghao smiles at Jisoo, and it reminds the elder of the first night they met, in bed as they stared at each other around the flames of a match.

But then Minghao shifts his gaze to Junhui, and recites something softly in Chinese. It sounds tender and loving, and Jisoo thinks he catches the words “ _I love you_ ” somewhere in there, but Junhui just looks confused, brow furrowing.

Minghao turns back to Jisoo, still smiling. “Hold Junhui back for me so he doesn’t get burned.”

“What?” Jisoo breathes out, but a second later Minghao is dumping the rest of the flask over his head and dropping the match at his own feet.

The car and Minghao go up into flames in seconds, the blaze huge and bright and burning. Junhui dives for Minghao and Jisoo dives for Junhui. Jisoo beats him to it and tackles Junhui to the ground, using all of his strength to keep the older boy pinned down and keep him from approaching the fire.

Junhui starts screaming the same time Minghao does, although Junhui's sounds pained and broken, and Minghao's sounds like the noise an animal would make in their dying throes. Which Jisoo rationalizes is exactly what was happening.

“ _Minghao!_ ” Junhui shouts, thrashing against Jisoo to free himself, but the elder keeps a tight grip on him. _“Stop, stop!_ ”

The fire burns behind Jisoo’s back, the brightness reflected in Junhui’s terrified eyes. He can feel the heat of it pressing down on the back of his neck with tremendous pressure, and the scent of burning metal for once doesn’t excite him when he smells it cut with something that could only be the smell burning flesh.

Junhui is still screaming, this time in Chinese, shoving hard against Jisoo as he tries to move. He tries to roll to the side, but Jisoo wraps his arms around him to keep him in place. He presses his face into Junhui’s neck, trying not to cry.

Minghao’s screaming has stopped. Jisoo can hear Junhui coughing violently as he tries to keep fighting against him, sobs and choking noises tearing their way through his yells. Jisoo swallows a lump in his voice and tries to breathe through his mouth so he won’t have smell the smoke.

A bright light washes over both of them, and the sound of a car's rumbles just a few feet away. Jisoo raises his head and squints, holding a hand in front of his eyes so he can see past the light. The car is a familiar black Range Rover, and as the engine cuts off Jisoo spots Wonwoo stepping out of the driver's seat. He opens the back door, and Hansol steps out.

Out of sheer shock, Jisoo loosens his grip on Junhui for a second, which Junhui immediately feels. The younger uses his feet to kick Jisoo off of him, leaping to his feet and scrambling towards the still burning car.

Hansol doesn’t seem bothered by the scene. His eyes flicker between Jisoo and Junhui, before finally settling on the shapeless, charred form on the hood of the car, still aflame, that could only be Minghao’s body.

 

Hansol’s office is in a huge mansion that Jisoo has never seen before. He wonders if Junhui had ever been here before, but he doubts it. For all he knows Minghao and Junhui could’ve been in that basement for years, only sneaking out once every few months to satiate Minghao’s pyromania and set trash at the junkyard on fire, or when Junhui needed to deal with Hansol and his dealers.

Now, Junhui walks beside him like a zombie. He’s got soot staining his cheeks and clothes, and the scent of smoke clings to his sweatshirt. His eyes are empty and his face emotionless, staring straight ahead with a sort of glazed over look like he wasn’t really there. Jisoo reaches out to grab Junhui’s hand, but it’s clenched tight, so instead Jisoo just pulls the younger’s hand into his own sweatshirt pocket and pulls him closer.

As they’re ushered along the sleek, marble floored hallways by Wonwoo, Jisoo spots the boy Jeonghan he’d met before peeking behind a door at them. He raises his hand to wave at Jisoo, but someone slams the door from the inside before he can.

Hansol’s office is dark and intimidating, heavy velvet curtains on the windows and polished oak furniture. Hansol leans against his desk, folding his arms across his chest and staring at the two of them before him.

“Well?” He says, looking expectant. “Care to explain?”

“Um,” Jisoo starts, glancing at Junhui. Junhui was still staring at nothing, and from his lack of reaction, it didn’t seem like he even heard Hansol. “We went out to the junkyard just for a little bit. To burn off some steam. We didn’t know he was gonna do that.”

“I did,” Hansol states matter-of-factly, and it seems to surprise Junhui out of his trance because he removes his hand from Jisoo’s pocket and suddenly breathes out, “What?”

Hansol turns his gaze on him, looking casual, as though this situation were something that happened often. “I knew he was gonna do it eventually. It was just a matter of when and where. But I knew how.”

Junhui swallows, bottom lip trembling. “He did it because of you.”

Hansol shrugs. “I mean, you can think that if you’d like, but I knew he’d do it whether-”

“He did it because of you!” Junhui suddenly screams, making Jisoo jump. Hansol doesn’t react in the slightest, still just looking at Junhui. “He did it because you caged him up like a fucking animal! He did it because you used him like a slave!”

“He had the option to leave whenever he felt necessary,” Hansol replies, looking almost amused.

Junhui grabs the closest thing to him- a decorative lamp- and hurls it at Hansol. The younger simply ducks, and the glass shatters loudly against the opposite wall.

“You would’ve killed him yourself!” Junhui shouts. “You wanted him to fucking die in that basement!”

Hansol snaps his fingers rapidly, and a few seconds later the door to his office opens and Wonwoo strolls in, along with a tall boy Jisoo hadn’t seen before.

“If you don’t mind, escort Junhui back to the basement,” Hansol says cooly. Junhui whips on his heel, looking ready to throw something else at the other two boys, but the tall one already has a firm hold on his wrists before he can move. Junhui spits curses at them, shouting at Hansol- _“This is all your fault, you’re a monster, you did this to him, I hope you burn in hell!”-_ but is ultimately dragged out of the room.

The door is slammed behind them, and Jisoo is left in silence with Hansol, who’s looking at him once again with that same cool, intrigued expression he’d had the first night they’d met.

“I like you, Jisoo,” The younger finally says, and Jisoo feels some of the weight lift off his chest. “I know you’re not like those two. They were always a bit off, and that’s why I keep them away from my other ranks. But now that Minghao’s gone, there’s really no need to keep you in the basement, is there?”

Jisoo isn’t sure what to say, so he nods, hoping that’s enough of an answer.

Hansol smiles. “Exactly. You’d be much more suited in a higher up rank, maybe with Jihoon or Jeonghan. Would you like that?”

Jisoo nods again. He doesn’t think he has much of a choice.

 

Jisoo gets a new room.

It’s in the mansion, and it’s infinitely better than the basement. It looks more like a hotel room, with a huge, plush bed, a balcony and television set and a closet full of expensive clothes. His heart settles uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach as he thinks of Junhui, alone in the cold, windowless basement that smells like acid and gets too dark at night.

“Hansol wakes at eight, so be up by six,” Jeonghan tells him once he’s showed him where everything was. “Make sure you’re ready before he’s up or he’ll be annoyed. Jihoon usually wakes up at five so he’ll probably wake you tomorrow just in case.”

Jisoo nods, perched on the edge of the soft bed, feeling a bit lost. He still has soot on his palms and smells like smoke and has the sound of Minghao’s screaming ringing in his ears.  
Jeonghan smiles at him cheerily, clearly not aware of what had happened (or maybe he was, and he simply didn’t care. It didn’t seem like many people who worked for Hansol cared about Minghao or Junhui.)

“Wait,” Jisoo whispers before Jeonghan can close the door fully. “Where does Hansol sleep?”

Jeonghan gives him an odd look, but replies, “Upstairs. There’s four floors. He has the whole top floor himself. Mingyu is usually on guard at night.”

Jisoo nods. “Just wondering.”

Jeonghan closes the door without a word, and Jisoo is left to his own thoughts. He feels empty and tired. He lays flat on the bed, spreading out his arms and staring at the ceiling. He wishes he was with Junhui.

He sits up with the intent of showering, brewing an idea that he’ll sneak out tomorrow and bring clean clothes and words of comfort to Junhui, when he puts his hands in his sweatshirt pocket and feels something in it.

When he pulls it out, it’s a pack of matches. The ones that Minghao had used. The pack is burned and blackened, and Jisoo doesn’t remember putting in his pocket until he realizes Junhui must have slipped them in earlier.

He uses his thumb to wipe at the soot on the front, and he can just barely make out the little palm tree drawings on the front, the words _Greetings From Sunny California!_ printed beside it. He stares at it for awhile, wondering why Junhui would give them to him. He sighs, keeping them curled in his hand when he stands up to head for the bathroom.

On the coffee table across the room, a silver tray with two glasses and a shiny bottle of liquor sit untouched. It glimmers promisingly, and Jisoo only needs a few seconds for an idea to plant itself in his head.

He grabs the bottle and heads out of his room. It’s dark in the mansion, everyone in their own rooms for the night, so he has no trouble wandering for a bit until he finds the main staircase that leads all the way up to the fourth floor.

On the staircase of the third floor, the tall boy who had dragged Junhui out stands. His back is straight and he clearly has a gun holstered to his belt, but he doesn’t seem that bothered when Jisoo approaches him.

“Mingyu, right?” Jisoo asks, and the boy nods. “Is Hansol asleep yet? I need to talk to him about something.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicker up the staircase. “Can’t it wait?”

Jisoo shakes his head. “It’s important. It has to do with a batch Minghao and I cooked yesterday.”

Mingyu bites the inside of his cheek, looking torn. Finally, he sighs, stepping aside. “Fine. But make it quick. I don’t even know if he’s asleep yet.”

Jisoo smiles at him, winking. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

The staircase leads to another hallway, with a single door at the end. Jisoo doesn’t see any light coming out from underneath it, and when he knocks gently on the door he hears no response. He turns the handle slowly, holding his breath as he prays it doesn’t creak, and enters the room.

The room is similar to the one he was assigned, but much more luxurious, those same red velvet curtains hanging over the windows and blocking out all and any light from outside. Hansol is clearly asleep in his enormous king sized bed, breathing evenly. The only light that leaks in the room is from the hallway under the door, and even that is so subtle that it takes a few moments for Jisoo’s eyes to adjust to the dark.

He approaches the bed slowly, unscrewing the bottle of liquor. He takes a long swig before flipping it, pouring out a puddle at the base of the bed frame. He steps along the frame, evenly distributing the liquor beneath it and along the polished oak wood. He circles the other side as well, until the bottle is empty and he stands just beside Hansol to his right.

Jisoo spots the gold locket Hansol always wears around his neck on the nightstand. He grabs it and pockets it before pulling the matches out of his pocket.

On the bed, Hansol shifts, mumbling under his breath as he slowly rouses. Jisoo lights up the match, and the light makes Hansol squint.

They lock eyes, and Jisoo can see the way Hansol’s own widen as he takes in the situation, the empty bottle of liquor in Jisoo’s left hand and the lit match in his right.

“Jisoo, no-!” He starts, but Jisoo is already dropping the match.

The bed goes up in flames just as fast as the car had, if not faster, swallowing Hansol whole. His screaming his loud and hoarse and not unlike Minghao’s had been, and Jisoo thinks to himself as he watches that those screams will haunt his dreams until he dies. In his chest, his heart pounds wildly, making him lightheaded and dizzy in the most delicious of ways. The calm that settles in his bones is familiar, welcoming, like an old friend, and the slight burn of the fire from standing too close to it feels like a warm hug.

He hears footsteps down the hall, and he opens the door just as Mingyu bursts in. He strolls out as Mingyu takes in the scene, too preoccupied with attempting to aid Hansol to stop Jisoo.

Jisoo can still hear the screaming as he descends the staircase. His hands shake in the slightest, and he’s still gripping the pack of matches in his hand. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the locket and swings it around his finger, whistling to himself.

He hopes Junhui likes gold.


End file.
